Chapter 11: The Weight of Contempt
The cool, dry air of the canyon felt like a balm against Kakarot's heated skin. He stood for a long moment, just outside the cave entrance, his senses slowly re-calibrating to the world beyond that small, sweaty chamber of violation. The metallic scent of blood was fading, replaced by the dusty, ancient smell of stone and the faint, sweet odor of the resilient thorn-bushes clinging to the canyon walls. Behind him, from the cave, came the soft, broken sounds of weeping, not the loud, terrified cries of battle, but the deep, shuddering sobs of a violation that would never truly heal. He ignored them. They were background noise, the faint hum of a machine he had used and would use again.
He flexed his hands, the powerful muscles in his forearms rippling. Lyra's soft skin and Kael's rough hide were still a phantom memory against his fingertips, their warmth a stark contrast to the cooling canyon air. His body thrummed with a familiar, post-coital lethargy, but his mind was already churning, the temporary satiation giving way once more to the cold, hard knot of fury that had taken up permanent residence in his gut. The pleasure had been a distraction, a fleeting indulgence in dominance, but it was just that, fleeting. It did nothing to quell the deeper hunger, the need for a challenge that would truly test the limits boiling within him.
A sharp, insistent chirp from his scouter shattered the relative silence. The sound was abrasive, an electronic intrusion into his primal reverie. He didn't immediately respond, letting it ping a second time, a third, each one more impatient than the last. With a slow, deliberate movement that spoke of immense control, he raised a hand and tapped the device on his ear.
"What?" His voice was a low growl, stripped of any pretense of civility. It was the voice of a predator interrupted at its kill.
A grainy, distorted hologram of Nappa's bald, scarred head flickered to life in the corner of his vision. The giant's face was contorted in its usual expression of brutish impatience. "Where the hell are you, runt?" Nappa's voice boomed through the comm, too loud for the intimate confines of the canyon. "The southern continent's been silent for over an hour. Vegeta's getting pissy. He thinks you're napping again."
Kakarot's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained an unreadable mask. He could hear the faint sounds of destruction in the background of Nappa's transmission, distant explosions, the rumble of collapsing structures. The Prince and his lapdog were still busy at their "assessment."
"I'm finishing the sweep," Kakarot replied, his tone flat, devoid of any emotion that might betray what 'finishing' had entailed. "The continent is clear. No resistance. No survivors above the required threshold." The lie was effortless. The hidden pocket of hybrids was his secret, his personal livestock, and he had no intention of reporting them.
"'Clear'?" Nappa scoffed, the holographic image flickering with static. "Took you long enough. Raditz said you were dawdling. Said you got sentimental over some blue-skinned whore back on the station and it made you soft. Looks like he was right."
A cold spike of pure, undiluted hatred shot through Kakarot's core at the mention of Lara. The image of her, crumpled and bruised on the floor, flashed behind his eyes, so vivid it was almost tactile. He saw Raditz's boot connecting with her chest, heard the sickening thud. The memory was a brand, white-hot and permanent. But he didn't flinch. He didn't snarl. Instead, he forced a breath out through his nose, a slow, controlled exhalation that did nothing to cool the inferno within.
"Raditz talks too much," Kakarot said, his voice dropping even lower, taking on a dangerous, almost conversational quality. "And he thinks too little. The work is done. That is all that matters."
"The work is done when Prince Vegeta says it's done!" Nappa barked. "And he says you're to report to the central landmass immediately. We're prepping the final bio-scan for Frieza's buyers. He wants you here. Now. No more excuses, no more delays. Stop playing in the dirt and get your ass moving."
The condescension was a physical weight. It was the same tone they always used with him. The slacker. The child. The low-class fool who needed to be managed, herded, and scolded. They saw his calculated efficiency today as an anomaly, a brief spurt of competence that didn't erase a lifetime of their perceived superiority. They couldn't see the cold fire burning behind his eyes. They only saw what they expected to see.
A long, heavy silence stretched over the comm. Nappa seemed to expect a retort, a complaint, the usual infuriating cheek Kakarot was known for. When none came, the giant Saiyan grunted, unsatisfied. "You hear me, Kakarot? Or did you leave your ears back in that village you were supposed to be clearing?"
Kakarot's jaw tightened. The muscles in his temples throbbed. He looked down at his hands again, now clean of blood but forever stained with the memory of it. He saw the bodies of the villages, the tribes, the butchered and the broken. He had done it all with a cold, ruthless precision that should have commanded respect, or at the very least, wary acknowledgment. Yet here was Nappa, speaking to him as if he were a misbehaving pup.
"I hear you," Kakarot finally said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, yet it carried a density that seemed to warp the very air around him.
"Then what's the hold-up?" Nappa pressed, too stupid to sense the shift, the deadly calm settling over the line.
The words came then, not as a shout, not as a petulant whine, but as a cold, hard statement of fact, delivered with an icy clarity that was far more terrifying than any roar.
"The hold-up, Nappa," Kakarot began, each word measured and precise, "is that I am tired of being summoned like a child for a scolding. I have purged an entire continent. I have exterminated five distinct tribal species. I have done so alone, efficiently, and without requiring your oversight or the Prince's… micromanagement."
He paused, letting the statement hang in the electronic void between them. He could almost feel Nappa's confusion on the other end, the brute's slow mind struggling to process the words that weren't laced with their usual lazy defiance.
"I am given a task," Kakarot continued, his gaze lifting from his hands to stare out at the darkening canyon, his eyes seeing not the rock, but the future. "I complete it. And yet, the response is not acknowledgment. It is not a reassignment of greater responsibility. It is a demand to report immediately so I can be… monitored. So I can be looked down upon. So I can be reminded of my place by those who believe their birthright is a substitute for true strength."
Another pause, longer this time. The only sound from Nappa's end was the distant crump of an explosion.
"You tread me like a child," Kakarot said, and for the first time, a sliver of something dangerous, something ancient and Saiyan and utterly ruthless, bled into his tone. It was a sharp, cutting edge beneath the ice. "You, Raditz, the Prince… you all do. You see my power and you dismiss it. You see my efficiency today and you attribute it to a fleeting mood. You believe your titles and your class define your worth. It is a critical error in judgment."
Nappa found his voice, though it was less sure now, more bewildered than angry. "What in the hell are you babbling about, runt? Have you finally lost what little mind you had? You will show respect when you…"
"Respect is earned," Kakarot cut him off, his voice final, absolute. "It is not inherited. And it is not granted through condescension and insults delivered over a scouter. Tell Prince Vegeta the southern continent is clear. The report is filed. I will join you when I have concluded my own post-clearance assessment. Not before."
The audacity of the statement, the sheer, unprecedented defiance, left Nappa speechless. The hologram flickered, the image of his gaping mouth frozen for a second.
"You… you can't just…" Nappa spluttered.
"I have," Kakarot stated. And with a final tap on his scouter, he severed the communication.
The sudden silence in the canyon was profound. The weeping in the cave had stopped, as if the females within had sensed the shift in the air, the terrifying new tension radiating from the figure outside. Kakarot stood motionless, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm that belied the storm raging within.
He had drawn a line. Not with a shout, not with a flash of ki, but with words. Cold, deliberate, and insubordinate. The consequences would be immediate and severe. Vegeta would not tolerate such a challenge to his authority. There would be a confrontation, likely a violent one.
A faint, grim smile touched Kakarot's lips. Good.
Let them come. Let them try to put him back in his place. Let them bring their contempt and their arrogance. It would make what came next so much more satisfying. The game had changed. He was no longer playing the part of the compliant lackey. The mask of indifference was still there, but beneath it, the true Kakarot was finally stirring, and he was done waiting. He was done being patient. The weight of their contempt had finally become too heavy to bear, and he was ready to return it, not with words, but with blood and shattered bone.
He took one last look at the hidden crevice that held his terrible secret, his insurance, his reminder of what true power could take and break and own. Then he launched into the sky, not towards the central landmass where his prince awaited, but on a wide, arcing patrol of his own conquered territory. He would join them on his own terms, in his own time.
Let them wait.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]